


The Secretary

by DragonGirl87



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Clueless Draco Malfoy, Daily Prophet, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Head Auror Harry Potter, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Sly Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 08:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18988849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonGirl87/pseuds/DragonGirl87
Summary: It's irksome when other people seem to know more about yourself than you do.





	The Secretary

**Author's Note:**

> For **K** , because he pulled me out of a slump today.
> 
> For my **Coffee Bean** , because she's respectful of boundaries and subscribed to my author page knowing I was writing this drabble. It's over 2K, not sure it still qualifies as a drabble.
> 
> For **Justin** , who doesn't know I'm dedicating this story to him but who always makes sure I drink enough water.
> 
> For **Lydia** , who asked for a fake/pretend relationship but I turned her down because I wasn't feeling it - well, hon, today I was and this probably wasn't what you had in mind, but it works for me.
> 
> For everyone else who enjoys my stories.
> 
> On a personal note, I really needed to write this. I had no plan and no direction but I needed to get this out and I'm pleased with where it took me.

* * *

The slurred insults didn’t bother Draco.

Neither did the scathing remarks, uttered behind his back, nor the dirty looks he got almost everywhere he went.

He didn’t even mind that people usually ignored his very existence or outright refused to serve him.

Granted, it made the purchase of a book, or anything really, a bit tedious but at this stage, he simply left the exact number of galleons by the cash register and left with his purchase inside his own stylish black soft leather tote bag.

Ordering potion’s ingredients from overseas was a costly endeavour but since Draco refused to give up brewing and experimenting with potions, he had no choice. It was merely a hobby but also an opportunity to avoid people and he relished in it.

Eating out in Muggle London was, after a steep learning curve, almost second nature now. As was navigating the London Underground, which had, strangely enough, become another favourite pastime of his.

The first few months after the war had, of course, been tough and for the first year, the constant reports of the trial proceedings had dredged up past hurts and reopened old wounds while not allowing fresh ones to heal properly. For the longest time, a suffocating sort of sadness had shrouded Wizarding Britain.

After the second anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts and after the repairs had restored the imposing castle to its former glory, the heavy fog had started to lift. It had been right around that time that Draco had allowed that tiny flicker of hope inside him to burn a little brighter but when Britain’s wizards and witches had chosen resentment over granting second chances, he’d known, without a shadow of doubt, that he’d spend the rest of his life atoning for his father’s sins and paying Lucius Malfoy’s dues.

It didn’t matter that the Wizengamot had found his father guilty of a nearly endless list of abominable charges and formally invited him to spend the rest of his life in a cold wet and dark cell in Azkaban.

It didn’t matter that his mother had publicly apologised for her husband’s mistakes and vowed to use a substantial amount of the Malfoy fortune to make financial reparations.

After that, Draco had, without hesitation, killed that flicker of hope and decided to grow a thicker skin instead. It had worked in his favour, or at least he liked to think so.

The Ministry’s offer of a job, a lowly and underpaid secretarial position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had been a veiled attempt at constant surveillance but Draco had accepted it anyway.

The short trip from the Floo through the Atrium and up to the open plan office, he shared with thirty other administrative assistants, was torture yet he somehow managed to keep his head held up high, which only seemed to infuriate people more.

The actual job was dull, tedious, and repetitious, and most days Draco needed a long walk alongside the River Thames to kill his desire to _Obliviate_ himself.

Fast forward five years, with the seventh anniversary of the war behind him and his birthday only days away, Draco was still trudging on.

He’d gotten into the rhythm of things.

Mondays through Fridays he dutifully showed up at the Ministry and with the help of much coffee, a good book during his hour-long lunch break, and a piece or two of luxurious Belgian chocolate he made it through the day.

On weekends he spent his mornings experimenting with potions and his afternoons with his mother.

There was, of course, the occasional Friday or Saturday night when he spiced things up a bit, dressed in his finest designer clothes and ventured into Muggle London for a meal and a carefree night in a bar or club.

Those nights usually ended with the consumption of too many colourful alcoholic drinks and in the arms of a nameless but good-looking man – something he suspected his mother knew but never questioned him about since she’d yet to try and bring up the topic of marriage and offspring to continue to Malfoy line.

He fully intended to give her a grandson, just as soon as he figured out a way of doing it without permanently attaching himself to a woman.

However, recently something, or rather someone, had thrown him off entirely his course.

It had started innocently enough with the one or other look casually cast in his direction. Those had been easy enough to ignore and even though they’d riled him up endlessly, Draco had kept his cool admirably.

The friendly hellos and goodbyes had been a little more difficult to ignore and while he’d tried his best not to acknowledge them, he hadn’t been able to successfully keep up the pretence, especially since the rumour mill was ripe with gossip about the fact that Potter was gearing up to take over the Auror Department.

So, instead of continuing to be unbelievably rude to The Saviour of the Wizarding World, Draco had started to reciprocate the greetings, first with an informal but curt nod of the head, then with a slightly-forced smile and eventually with a drawled-out hello and / or goodbye.

Naturally, things hadn’t stayed that way and these days Draco bitterly regretted the fact that he hadn’t quit his job the day Potter had first looked at him with mild curiosity shining in his emerald green eyes.

The first time Potter had asked him if it would be OK if he accompanied him to lunch, Draco had given him such a venomous glare that Potter had returned to casually greeting him whenever they crossed paths.

The second time Potter had asked him if it would be OK if he accompanied him to lunch, Draco had ignored him altogether and left with his tote back casually dangling from his shoulder.

The third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth time Potter had asked him if it would be OK if he accompanied him to lunch, Draco had done the exact same but the tenth time Potter had asked, he’d resigned himself to his fate and accepted that Potter wouldn’t stop asking unless he took the proverbial olive branch from him.

A hissed ‘ _as long as you don’t talk to me or expect me to talk to you_ ’ later, they’d left for the canteen together and after a series of lunches spent in complete silence, Potter had broken Draco’s golden rule and started nattering on about his day.

At first, Draco found it easy to ignore. He’d simply zoned out and focused on potions ingredients instead but as time went on he’d found it increasingly difficult not to focus on Potter’s voice and sooner rather than later he learnt that Potter was actually quite witty and had a thoroughly sassy disposition. He also learnt that Potter was excellent at his job and loved it too.

From that day on, Draco had started silently gobbling up Potter’s stories and they’d quickly become his new addiction. To stop himself from forgetting all the fantastic tales Potter so willingly shared with him, he’d taken to spending an extra half hour after lunch jotting down key points and sometimes entire quotes in a newly acquired notebook.

Draco couldn’t remember when he’d started asking the occasional question but he suspected it had happened right around the time that Potter had started asking him to come along to the pub for Friday night pints.

He’d vehemently refused to even consider partaking in any such activities, citing that he wasn’t welcome. Potter had refuted that several times, and rather strongly so, insisting that Draco was most definitely welcome – _“I want you there, isn’t that enough?”_ Potter had stubbornly replied which had resulted in Draco stomping off in a strop and ignoring him for the rest of the day.

Draco also wasn’t sure when exactly he’d come to think of Potter as his friend and while, given their history, he considered the very idea ludicrous it refused to remove itself from his mind and after it had made it perfectly clear that it would take an extremely powerful _Obliviate_ to disappear, Draco had stopped trying.

A few weeks after he and Potter had become friends, at least in Draco’s mind, they’d drunkenly, and with their arms thrown around each other’s shoulders, stumbled out of the pub for the first time with Potter singing some hideous Muggle pop tune, Draco had never heard of, and making it his mission to have them walk into every single lamppost along the street.

After that disastrous and open display of their friendship, which Draco was still convinced only existed in his head, stumbling out of the pub alongside Potter quickly became a semi-regular occurrence. Somewhere along the way, the occasional Wednesday night dinner had become a permanent entry in his calendar and by the time Potter asked if he could visit him at the Manor one Saturday morning, Draco conceded that their friendship perhaps also existed in Potter’s head.

How all of that had led to the Prophet publishing a photograph of them both bickering over broomsticks inside Quality Quidditch Supplies Draco didn’t know.

What he did know though was that in the photograph of Potter placing his hand on his forearm and then leaning in to whisper something into his ear, what Draco couldn’t remember, looked rather dubious and suggested that their relationship was decidedly intimate in nature.

The Prophet’s Breaking News Headline was putting exactly that forward for Wizarding Britain’s consideration. He’d, of course, resisted the urge to run straight into Potter’s office to slam the paper onto his desk but his mind was reeling. When, later that evening, the Prophet’s special evening edition with Potter’s commentary on the photograph, had found him while still at his desk at work, Draco had nearly choked on his tea.

 _“Have you lot got nothing better to do than care about whom I date?”_ had Potter asked the journalist.

The special edition’s headline of that article had read:

> _**Harry Potter Dating Former Death Eater** _

Unable to read past the headline, Draco had cast a very strong _Incendio_ at the paper and by the time he’d returned home, his mother informed him that she’d banished several hundred howlers and he’d profusely apologised for causing her such much trouble and then vowed to murder Potter the next morning. The fact that she’d left the room chuckling had worried him greatly but Potter, unexpectedly and without an invitation, showing up on his doorstep with a bottle of Firewhiskey in hand had thoroughly distracted him.

Instead of quietly planning Potter’s murder, like he’d intended, they’d both locked themselves into his private study, well Potter had, and they’d then proceeded to spend the evening getting mind-numbingly sauced.

After falling asleep on the floor in front of the fireplace, they’d woken up with massive hangovers and the strong desire to die. Two phials of hangover potion had taken care of the worst symptoms and following a scrumptious breakfast and way too much coffee, Potter had left.

From there on things had only gotten more confusing. Potter refused to engage with the press beyond repeatedly telling them that his private life was none of their damn business and people stopped insulting Draco quite so much.

In fact, with each passing week, an increasing number of people started to treat him like he was an actual human being. Draco ignored them for the most part, whom he, however, didn’t ignore, not once, was Potter.

A year after The Prophet outing their friendship as the love affair it wasn’t, Potter slowly became Harry. Draco wasn’t sure when that had happened or how or why but he’d stopped contemplating anything that concerned Potter…Harry a long time ago. Instead, he simply went with the flow and took most things in his stride.

Harry became Head of the Auror Department and Draco, unwilling to give up his position as an administrative assistant if it meant working directly for Harry, moved to a private office in front of Harry Potter’s luxurious Director’s office.

Somewhere along the way the Prophet stopped printing quite as much nonsense about them, however, whenever they did publish another article, which did happen every other week, Harry would gift him the newspaper clipping, along with a cup of his favourite coffee, with a most confusing comment – _another one for the photo album_.

Draco couldn’t work out what it meant but he dutifully purchased a photo album and started to apply permanent sticking charms to the back of all the newspaper clippings Harry handed him.

The day the Prophet reported that their nuptials were imminent, Draco drank an indecent amount of Muggle cocktails, then, instead of going home with a random stranger, Apparated straight to Harry’s two-storey luxurious and modern London flat, overlooking the River Thames, and kissed him, though he had no idea why or what had possessed him.

Despite his self-induced inebriation, he fully expected Harry to curse him off the face of the earth so when Harry sighed and mumbled “ _took you long enough, Malfoy”_ he sobered up instantly and stared at Harry with his grey eyes wide open and a thoroughly shocked expression seemingly permanently attached to his face.

“What do you mean—”

“Bloody hell, Malfoy, even Ron worked it out about eighteen months ago.”

Draco frowned and feeling decidedly dizzy, he leant back against the nearest wall.

“Worked out what?”

“That I fancy the fucking pants off you!” Harry exclaimed and ran his fingers through his unruly dark hair.

“Ah.”

Unable to string a coherent sentence together in response to that confession, Draco settled for a sound. Then, when his insanity finally completely took over, he asked Harry whether they were indeed getting married.

Harry laughed.

“Could we perhaps go on a real date first and maybe even have sex?” he asked.

Draco huffed out a breath of air and crossed his arms over his chest.

“If you want to wait until after we’re married, fuck it, let’s go for it. I mean, at this stage we know each other well enough, don’t we?”

Draco rolled his eyes but did not uncross his arms.

“That has got to be the worst marriage proposal ever, I reject.”

“Do you need a diamond ring and me going down on one knee?”

Draco scoffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter.”

“Ah, we’re back to Potter. Pity. I’d just gotten used to you calling me Harry, Draco.”

Draco sighed.

“You’re infuriating, Harry Potter. There, better?”

Harry smirked.

“A little. So, what do you say, Draco Malfoy, can we stop fake-dating and start to date properly?”

Draco looked at Harry for a minute or two, then slowly uncrossed his arms, shoved his hands into his jean pockets and shrugged his shoulders.

“I suppose.”

This time it was Harry’s turn to roll his eyes.

“And you dare complain about my marriage proposal.”

* * *

 


End file.
